He turned his attention back to the journal. The last entry was dated the tenth of June. Nearly three weeks had passed since she’d written anything. He counted back, trying to recall how long it had been since she’d fallen from the horse. Everything had changed that night, but why? He had a hard time believing the woman had lost her memory.
He squinted against the lantern’s glare to study the script. Although no military entries remained, notes on her involvement with him could possibly implicate her as a spy. Why had she made such personal entries? She was nothing but a foolish bitch.
Unfortunately, if anyone else found this book, he would be branded as her accomplice. A traitor. He sucked on his lower lip. There had to be something he could hold against her. He’d just keep this book in a safe place. If need be, he’d have to burn it.
But if she switched her allegiance and tried to betray him, he now had the means to bring her down with him.
****
Will drifted in and out of consciousness. One minute he was in the barn surrounded by wounded soldiers, the next he marched on a hot, blazing battlefield. Explosions tore men to shreds, but he plodded on. This was his duty, to defend...defend what? He thought of Amanda. The child had already lost her mother. If he should fall, she’d be alone.
Doc’s voice brought him back to the barn. “Wake up, Will.”
He opened one eye. The doctor’s thin face appeared even more haggard than the last time they’d spoken. “You need rest,” Will said.
Doc laughed. “You don’t look all that well yourself.”
“How bad is it?”
“You’ll live. Just don’t expect to be up and walking any time soon.”
Will grimaced as he stretched his protesting muscles.
Doc glanced toward the barn entrance. “I do believe I see your own personal nurse.”
He twisted his head to see to whom Doc was referring. Erin approached carrying something wrapped in a towel.
“Can he have soup, Doc?” she asked.
“I reckon so. Just take it slowly.”
Erin wore her hair pulled back off her face and coiled into a bun. She perched on a stool by his cot holding the bundle in her lap. When she unwrapped it, the aroma of chicken broth teased his nostrils.
Her gaze fastened on his face. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.” He grinned.
She returned his smile. “I brought you some broth.”
“Go right ahead.” Doc said. “I’m off to get a few hours sleep.”
Once the doctor left, she slowly spooned the liquid into his mouth. The warm flavor of chicken felt wonderful against his dry throat. But the real healing power came from the beautiful angel feeding him.
****
Four months later, the army camped on a farm near Winchester, Virginia. When the Confederates had retreated from Gettysburg, Doc made sure Will wasn’t left behind. Over the past few months, as he’d slowly recovered, Erin had made it her personal mission to nurse him back to health, and in so doing, they’d grown close. But she still worried over her former life and wondered if she’d ever get back. What would happen if she did?
At night alone in her tent, she relived flashes of the dreams she’d had in the months before coming here. But these were more vivid than any dreams she’d had before. In those dreams, they were lovers, but she couldn’t give herself completely to him. The shadow of betrayal and loss clouded those dreams turning them to nightmares from which she wanted nothing more but to escape.
****
Two weeks later, Erin stood before her washtub agitating soiled clothes with a long stick containing points on the end. Brigid called it a dolly. The day in, day out physical toil was wearing her down. No showers, no modern conveniences, living outdoors day after day, not to mention her diet, which was sadly lacking. What she wouldn’t give for a pizza. Would she have to endure this life forever, or was it possible to return to her time?
Will slowly recovered from his battle wounds, although he remained in the hospital under Doc’s care and was unfit to return to duty. Doc had suggested he take a furlough, and Will considered it. An uneasy feeling washed over her as she wondered where it would leave her if he left camp.
She hung the laundry to dry, frustrated that clothes dryers didn’t yet exist, then returned to the medical tent to check on him. She found him propped on pillows reading the local newspaper. His face looked a bit thinner, his skin pale, and his formerly clean-shaven cheeks had acquired a dark growth.
“You’re looking better today,” she said. “Have you been eating?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “I could use a shave, though.”
“Don’t look at me.” She hoped he wasn’t suggesting she do it.
He frowned at her. “You’ve never shaved a man before?”
She shook her head.
“Not even your husband?”
She nearly blurted out that she’d never been married. “I don’t remember.”
“You haven’t regained memory of your past?”
“Just snippets here and there,” she lied. In truth, she used what she knew of Grandma’s historical records she’d read in the future and the stories Grandma had told her. The rest came from the journal. The journal that was now missing.
She suspected Jake had taken it. Believing it would only make things worse, she didn’t want to confront him. Fortunately, he’d stayed away from her. But she had a feeling he was plotting something, and it wouldn’t bode well for her.
Catching Will’s expectant gaze, she said, “You don’t want me to shave you.”
“I can’t think of a better luxury than to be shaved by a lovely woman.”
Her skin tingled at the compliment, but she kept her cool. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I’ll probably cut you.”
“Why don’t you collect my shaving kit from my tent and a basin and mirror. We’ll do this together.”
“When I cut your throat, don’t blame me.”
Within his tent, a masculine scent clung to everything. She found what she believed was his shaving kit—a razor in a pouch on the table beside his cot along with a mug and small mirror.
Upon returning, she propped him up, held the mirror, and set the mug and basin on a table beside him. He expertly lathered his cheeks and shaved the new growth, then used a small pair of scissors to trim his mustache and chin.
She bit her lip. The man of her dreams in the flesh performing such a masculine task quickened her heartbeat.
“You can lower the mirror now.” The corner of his lip quirked into a half-smile. “I’m finished.”
“Oh, okay.” Erin flushed and set the mirror on the table, embarrassed he’d caught her staring.
“Getting ready for your furlough?” Doc asked.
So intent upon Will, Erin hadn’t noticed his approach.
“Furlough?” she asked.
“Doctor’s orders. He needs time to recover at home.” To Will, he said, “Spend some time with your family and your little girl.”
Will nodded but didn’t look happy.
Erin’s thoughts raced ahead to how she’d manage without him.
“I’ll go if Mrs. O’Connell agrees to accompany me.”
Startled by his comment, she stared at him. “Why would you want me to go?”
“You’ve been my nurse since I was wounded.”
“But I’m sure your mother, or sister...”
“I want you,” he said.
Want me? A thrill raced through her at his choice of words. But, of course, he obviously meant as nursemaid.
She bit her lip. “I’ll have to think about it.” After catching Doc’s puzzled expression, she left to ponder what this meant. Although she wanted to stay with Will and believed she should, she worried about what that bastard, Jake, would say about it.
Chapter Thirteen
Mason, Virginia
Erin gazed at the white, green-shuttered house at the edge of town. She’d visited Will’s grave in
this very town over one hundred forty years in the future. The sensation of déjà vu caused a shudder.
Will shifted in the carriage and leaned toward her. “Are you cold, ma’am?”
She glanced at him. “Ah, no. I’m fine.” She turned back to the house, the image of his gravestone too impossible to bear.
Although glad the dusty, bumpy ride was over, she was reluctant to leave the carriage. She’d already met Jenny and Amanda and looked forward to seeing them again but wondered what Will’s parents were like. He jumped down from the carriage with a grunt, then moved to her side, offering her a hand.
“You’re not recovered yet,” she protested. When he didn’t move away, she scowled. “I can get down by myself.”
His eyebrows lifted, but he backed away. She jumped to the ground but found to her embarrassment her skirts still attached to the carriage.
I hate these clothes! If I could only find a pair of jeans that fit. And a nice, airy tank top.
“Allow me, ma’am.” He reached for her dress and petticoats to pull them from the carriage frame.
A blush crept from her chest to the crown of her head, and she hoped no one, especially Will, had caught a glimpse of her crotchless drawers. She eyed him, noting that his light tanned complexion turned slightly pink.
Once she was loose, they stepped through the black wrought-iron gate. The door burst open, and a small form raced toward them.
“Papa!” Amanda flew into Will’s stomach. He grunted.
“Careful, sweetheart,” Erin said. “Your papa’s side still hurts.”
Amanda’s mouth puckered into a frown. Erin glanced at Will. He caught her gaze and shook his head. She guessed Amanda hadn’t been told he’d been wounded.
“Does the rest of your family know?” she whispered as the child ran inside calling for Jenny.
“They know what they need to know,” he warned.
“Will!” Jenny screamed. “I can hardly believe you’re here.” She rose on tiptoe to plant a kiss on her brother’s cheek. “And Miss Erin, I’m so glad you came. Come along, and I’ll give you the tour.”
Erin turned toward Will. “I think I should see that your brother’s settled first.”
“Tillie and Isaac will see to him,” Jenny said. A tall, black man followed by a wide-hipped, black woman strode toward Will in welcome.
“You see.” Jenny linked her arm with Erin’s, leading her away.
Just inside the entry door, a row of hooks, set on a horizontal post, lined the wall to their left. She suspected these were for any outer clothing the family wore in the colder months. To the right, a large table flanked by chairs sat in the center of the room on a rectangular shaped Persian-style carpet. The walls were papered in a red and cream floral pattern. Heavy mahogany colored curtains, decorated with long gold tassels, framed the windows, and a crystal chandelier hung over the table.
Straight ahead a staircase led to the upper floors. To the left a pair of heavy wooden doors stood open, leading into a room Jenny called the parlor.
The tiny room made Erin’s head spin. She’d never seen so much furniture crammed into one space. A fireplace dominated the outside wall. Vases filled with dried flowers adorned the cream-colored mantle. Small, assorted knickknacks and family photos covered any remaining space. She moved slowly through the cramped area afraid one false move would spell disaster.
Cleaning this room must be a nightmare! She’d never bother, and the dust would sit there for years. Probably why they didn’t have many things. And why, she thought with a glance at Jenny, they had help.
“Do you spend much time in here?” Erin asked.
“Of course not,” Jenny said. “The parlor is only for entertaining.” She eyed Erin in a peculiar way.
The seating area consisted of two chairs and a settee, all wood framed, upholstered in plush materials of blue, red, and beige. Another set of heavy, mahogany-colored curtains with gold tassels lined the windows, and a piano sat in the corner. Small tables set about the room held more knickknacks. The dark blue patterned carpet contrasted with the red-orange walls and orange-cream ceiling. Her eyes hurt. Was this clash of colors fashionable now?
The tour continued through the kitchen, while Jenny prattled on about...was she talking about wallpaper? At least this room was a little more esthetic, containing a black cast-iron stove, another fireplace, pots and pans, and a long butcher-block table. They toured the mud room, ending on the second floor with Jenny’s bedroom.
This room contained a large canopy bed in the center with a matching cream-colored, lace-trimmed coverlet. A wardrobe with intricate scrolling sat beside a dressing table equipped with assorted personal toiletries. Across from the window, flanked with blue velvet curtains, hung a portrait of Jenny. Her dark center-parted hair was plaited and framed her face, ending in ringlets resting on her shoulder. Her eyes placidly surveyed the room as a white nosegay adorned her lap. Her sky blue dress added to the tranquility of the portrait.
The bedroom was so unlike Erin’s room in her small apartment. No TV, computer, DVD player, phone or file cabinet. This was almost as bad as being stuck in an army camp.
“Isaac and Tillie can set a bath for you up here if you’d like before dinner,” Jenny offered.
“A bath. In a real tub? With soap, lots of towels and hot water?” Erin asked. The idea of immersing herself in soapy water was intoxicating.
“I can’t imagine what it must be like for a woman to live in an army camp day after day.”
“It’s great to finally have a solid roof over my head.” Erin dropped her gaze stamping her foot against the wool carpet. “And floor.”
Jenny laughed. “I’m so glad you came home with Will. It’ll be like having a sister.”
While Jenny summoned the servants to prepare the tub, Erin’s anticipation of her first real bath in months eased her anxiety about meeting Will’s parents.
Later, as she soaked in the hot, lavender scented water, her thoughts drifted to where this relationship with Will would lead and how she could change history to prevent his premature death.
****
Will greeted his mother with an obligatory kiss on the cheek.
“Where’s Father?” he asked.
“He’s been at the bank all day in meetings.” She waved her small, thin hand as if dismissing his father’s activities as trivial. “He should be arriving shortly.”
She snapped her fan open and fluttered it before her thin, drawn face. She still dressed in black from head to toe. Will had hoped in all the months he’d been gone that she would’ve abandoned the mourning clothes she’d donned after his brother, Sam’s, death in the first month of the war.
Her dark hair streaked with gray was pulled back into a tight bun. “And my—” She took a step back to admire Will. “—you surely do make a handsome soldier.”
“Thank you, Mother, but I know how you feel about the army.”
His mother gestured with the fan. “War is nasty business. I don’t see why civilized men have to fight.” She laughed. “But then, I forget, the Yankees aren’t civilized.”
Will smiled. “Jenny tells me there’s to be a welcome home dinner. May I ask who’s attending?”
She cleared her throat, fanning herself. “Only Miss Courtland. She’s such a lovely young lady.”
And she’s from a respectable, wealthy family. He kept the smile frozen on his lips. “I do hope you’re not playing matchmaker again, Mother.”
She gasped. “It’s been two years since poor Anne left us. Your daughter needs a mother. And your father wouldn’t mind having a grandson.”
“Jenny isn’t yet married.”
His mother pursed her thin lips. “He wants a grandson who will bear the Montgomery name.”
The clip clop of a horse’s hooves and the clatter of wagon wheels outside interrupted the conversation.
“It’s your father.” She peered out the window. “We’d best go greet him.”
Will hesitated. His father
was the last person he wanted to see. His mother waved her fan toward the door and frowned her disapproval when he didn’t move.
Knowing he had little choice, he gestured at the entry. “After you, Mother.”
He escorted his mother to the short granite walkway beside the garden, swinging the wrought iron gate open as Zachary Montgomery alighted from the carriage. As always, his father was impeccably dressed in a brown wool suit and black stove-pipe hat.
Approaching his wife and son, he nodded with obvious approval at Will’s full dress uniform. He didn’t smile but wore his usual stern expression.
“Hello, Father,” Will said.
“Heard you were wounded at Gettysburg,” he drawled. “I’m happy to see you’re not too bad off. How long will you be with us?”
“I have a medical furlough for the winter to allow me to fully recover.”
His father nodded. Reaching inside his coat, he patted his vest pocket and extracted a cigar. “Would you care for one?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
He nodded again and looked at his wife. “What time will we be dining, my dear?”
“Tillie will have it ready by seven.”
“Very well.” He motioned to Will. “Come with me to the study, I’d like you to regale me with stories of your heroics at Gettysburg.” Without waiting for an answer, he entered the house.
Will glanced at his mother but said nothing. After escorting her inside, he followed his father into the study.
His father’s large, mahogany desk, where he conducted business when away from the bank, was the centerpiece of the room. Two upholstered chairs, where guests could sit and enjoy Zachary’s stash of fine cigars, flanked the desk. A large portrait of the first Zachary Montgomery hung on the wall behind his father’s chair. His grandfather gazed at him with the same stern expression his son now wore. Will paced across the plush oriental carpet.
Zachary, puffing on his cigar, took his seat behind the desk. He motioned for Will to sit across from him, then eyed him speculatively. “Word is, the war’s taken a downturn since Gettysburg.”
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